


Room 601

by beriallen



Category: Memories of the Alhambra
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Inspired by K-Drama | Korean Drama, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beriallen/pseuds/beriallen
Summary: The truth was, Heeju was lying when she said that the room on the sixth floor was usually empty. Only people who had stayed there knew what it was like.A missing scene from Episode 11.





	Room 601

**Author's Note:**

> I love "Memories of the Alhambra" so much, and I'm writing this and posting it now before the drama ends, because it's Friday night, there's still one more sleep before the next episode, and I just can't think of anything else besides it. 
> 
> And also, as much as I love the drama, I can help but wishing there was more of Heeju. I just won't believe that a person who, as a child, became the reason her entire family made a life-changing decision only to fail them, and ended up having to be responsible for her relatives at a very young age, work without breaks and spend each day taking care of strangers-- I just can't believe that a person can do all of that and still be okay. I want to believe that it's one of the reasons why she's so attached to Jinwoo, who has been labeled "crazy" by the people around him. 
> 
> This story includes references to Episodes 1 & 11.

 

 

 

The truth was, the room on the sixth floor was never always empty. Heeju would check herself into the room once a while, when nobody was watching. 

When the clock stroke once at 1 a.m., and the numbers on the never-ending bills started to jumble up, or a two-star review on TripAdvisor brought down the hostel’s rating, Heeju would get up from her seat in her cramped office and made her way to the staircase.

She would climb up the stairs, then; slowly, just in case Minju was in the dining room, practicing for an audition that would never come (but she didn’t need to know that, not yet). Each step would remind her of a time when she was younger, when she used to run up and down the stairs with her siblings—with the sound of her grandmother nagging in the background—and she had to stop on the landing between the third and fourth floors to try to catch her breath. She didn’t have to do it anymore now, she was used to these stairs. She was used to being breathless.

There would be nothing but a green door—numbered “601”—to welcome her on the topmost floor. From the pocket of her pants, she would take out the key that she had grabbed earlier from one of the drawers of her office desk and inserted it into the lock. As she turned the key once, twice, it would make a sound that made her squint her eyes. Pressing the handle down, she would carefully push the wooden door open, flinching a little when the hinges let out a dreadful creak.

She would afterward slip through the narrow opening. Once she was inside, with her right hand on the handle and her left one rested on the wooden panel, she would gently shut the door close again.

She would turn around to find a room with cobwebs on every of its surfaces. Its musty smell had stopped bothering her since her third time here. She would pay no attention to a stack of furniture on her left as she dragged her feet toward the double bed in the opposite corner. She would walk past an almost cartoonish rat hole that poked at her peripheral vision like a ghostly shadow. She had been meaning to call an exterminator; “I’ll do it tomorrow,” she would think, knowing very well she would forget anyway. When she finally reached the edge of the bed, she would collapse onto the mattress, sending fine dust floating in the air. She would wave it off nonchalantly and, as she tried to ignore the fact that she hadn’t changed the sheets in forever, lie down in the bed. When the back of her head touched the dusty pillow, she would stare at the ceiling and think, “I’ll wash my hair tomorrow,” knowing very well she would forget.

And that was when she would start crying.

 

 

 

 

She bumped into Seju once.

Heeju never stayed long in Room 601. It was a matter of habit; from the hostel to the Alhambra to the streets of Granada to the guitar shop and back to hostel again, she could never stay for too long in one place. And even inside the hostel, she needed to move constantly between the office to the kitchen to the rooms on the first floor to the laundry room to the rooms on the second floor and so on.

On that particular early morning, Heeju had just left Room 601 and locked the door behind her. She went down the stairs, then, running her hand along the railing as she did so. She had just reached the bottom of the staircase, when the door to the dining room burst open, catching her off guard.

Seju appeared from behind the door with a backpack on his back, looking as shocked as she was. His glasses sat crooked on his face, and it was obvious he hadn’t brushed his hair. He let out an unintelligible sound, barely a groan, before stopping in his tracks to stare at her.

Even without any mirrors around, Heeju knew what gave him pause: Her reddened eyes, the dark circles underneath, the tracks of tears on both of her cheeks.

Seju furrowed his eyebrows. He opened his mouth slightly too, as if he was about to say something to her. And Heeju swore, she swore, if he had asked, she would have told him the truth. “Here’s the thing, Seju-yah. Your Noona just feels like crying sometimes. I’m just tired. I’ve never told anyone about this.”

But who was she kidding? This was Seju.

“Noona, I—,” he mumbled, looking away from her to observe his sneakers. “I’ve to go.”

“Where to?” Her voice was hoarse from crying and she had to clear her throat before continuing, “You were gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

Seju gripped the straps of his backpack, still avoiding her face. “I left a note.”

Heeju gave a soft sigh. “Just— Be careful, okay?”

He offered a weak nod as a reply and walked toward the front door. And just like that, he left.

 

 

 

 

The second time she almost blurted everything out about her little excursions to Room 601 happened when she was with a guest. A strange guest, at that. He came unannounced at 1 a.m., asking for a single room. He claimed that his flight from Barcelona got delayed, which was a little weird, considering how well-put-together he looked. Shouldn’t his pants be less crisp, his hair less tidy, his smirk less proud after a long day at the airport?

But she digressed.

When she showed him the inside of Room 601, Heeju caught sight of the wince of distaste in his expression. She hated to disappoint her guests, even the ones who arrived with no reservation.

“This room is usually empty, so I forgot to check,” she said, meekly.

He muttered under his breath, “Is that so?”

The way he scoffed afterward caused her breath to catch in her throat. “I lied,” she wanted to retort. Defiantly, with her chin up. “I come here from time to time without anyone knowing. I want everything to stop. I lie in the bed and wonder when I will choke on my own tears. I’ve never told anyone about this.”

But Heeju shook her head and bit her lower lip instead, reminding herself that the man in front of her was only a stranger. So she took a breath and turned into the hospitable host that she was.

“You should just go to a hotel,” she told him.

 

 

 

 

For once, Heeju stayed for long in one place.

"What’s our relationship?" Jinwoo had asked her earlier. “Are you my girlfriend or what? Have you been swayed by Minju’s crazy ideas?” His questions came to her one after another—no, not came; they were thrown at her, sharply, relentlessly. He might as well have shoved her out of his room with his own two hands.

But, look. She recognized that look in his eyes. She imagined it was the same one Seju had seen in her eyes that one early morning when she bumped into him at the bottom of the stairs, after she had just left Room 601. She remembered thinking, if Seju had asked, she probably would have told him everything then and there. But Seju never asked, Seju never stayed.

Perhaps that was why she did.

Heeju remembered how he couldn’t stop talking about magic when they first met; about magic in Granada. Well, to see him agreeing, albeit reluctantly, to go out and have dinner was just like that: Magic. It was magical that he didn’t just throw her out of the hotel.

“Please say something,” she pleaded, when their dinner was finally served. He had been saying nothing since they drove from his hotel to this restaurant. And now he still said nothing and slurped his soup instead.

Heeju glanced at the clock hanging on one of the walls in the restaurant. It was already past midnight, which meant it wasn’t her birthday anymore. She breathed out a defeated sigh and her shoulders slumped as she leaned back in her chair. Her eyes darted away from the clock and somehow landed on him again, almost impulsively. He was still, thankfully, eating and she could only see the top of his head while he inhaled his food. For some unexplainable reason, it reminded her of Granada, and she smiled to herself. Because it was still her birthday in Spain.

“You know,” Heeju started. She didn't even wait for him to look up, and proceeded, “I was lying when I told you the room on the sixth floor was usually empty.”

At that, his hand moved to scoop another spoonful of the broth, but then it just stayed there. His spoon lay limply between his thumb and forefinger, and Heeju watched as he frowned silently at his bowl.

She began again. “Sometimes, when it was low season, and we couldn’t pay for cable TV, and Minju was screaming at me because she couldn’t watch her music shows and had to miss her favorite idols, I would just go up there and lock myself in that room.”

Heeju looked away from him and studied her own bowl of soup, examining the oil that floated on the surface.

“I couldn’t even drink beers or wine or whatever like you did. For one, we had no money to buy more alcohol,” she stopped to let out a chuckle. “And I just couldn't have a hangover, I had to work the next day. For the same reason, I couldn’t stay in bed all day either.”

She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “So I just cried,” she continued.

“I was depressed, but I couldn’t afford to be depressed. I felt like dying, but I didn’t want to kill myself.” Heeju paused here, taking her time. There was a hint of a sneer in her tone when she eventually picked up where she left off. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

She pulled her right hand toward her bowl, and her fingers tapped on it, as if out of reflex. Her food was cold already. Tap, tap.

And that was when she heard it: “No.”

It was so faint at first, that Heeju thought she was just imagining it. But when she dared herself to glance up, she found him there, with his gaze already fixed on her. This wasn’t the first time it happened, and Heeju wished—and because on your birthday, you were allowed a wish—this wouldn’t be the last.

“You’re not crazy,” he said.

In spite of herself, she smiled. “I’ve never told anyone about this,” she said. “Thanks.”

He fidgeted in his seat and straightened up his back. “Don’t thank me yet,” he told her. “Who knows what the rest of the night— I mean, morning will bring.”

Heeju just shrugged. "Yeah. Who knows?”

 

 

 

 

 

End.


End file.
